


Clinical Complications

by king_worm



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Gen, Gochi - Freeform, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10060208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/king_worm/pseuds/king_worm
Summary: Chi-Chi had everything planned out from the start. Complete her nursing Residency. Graduate from Orange Star University. Go back to Mt. Frypan to work at her father's hospital. Easy, right? Well, it was, until the rising pro-football star Son Goku quite literally rolls into her unit. Since that fateful night, it seems he's been finding every excuse to land himself in the hospital, and it's Chi-Chi the innocent yet roguish patient demands to see. Can the small-town girl handle all her school work, clinical hours, a perverted boss, a famous athlete, a budding social life, oddly competitive nursing students, a possible love triangle, and an offer that changes her entire outlook on life?Probably not.Rating may go up, not entirely sure yet. Plenty of Gochi and obscure filler character references. Please enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally the first fic I've written in...8 years? Geez I'm old...
> 
> And I'm nervous. Like...is this good? Does fanfiction work this way anymore? Is flaming still a thing? Also, I don't know a thing about football or nursing or even college, so I'm relying heavily on seedy internet research to help me along.
> 
> Anyway, this was kindly requested on tumblr, featuring my absolute OTP since I was still learning cursive in elementary school, Gochi! Please enjoy and be gentle, I'm pretty rusty.  
>  

When I was a little girl, my mother used to tell me that there’s nothing in this world that can’t be tackled without a plan. And in Orange Star Hospital, in University, and in life itself, really, there is a procedure for everything.

Starting my career at my father’s hospital means I have to earn my degree. Earning my degree means I have to complete my Nursing Clinicals as a student, never mind the fact that I’ve had more clinical experience at the age of 20 than most doctors have had in their entire lifetime. It sort of comes with the territory of one’s family working in the medical field for too many generations to count. Completing my Clinicals means that I will be shadowing an RN for several long, unpaid hours as I watch someone do something I can probably do better and more quickly than them in my sleep.

At here at Orange Star Hospital, that RN is---I flick through my little notepad one last time to be certain it’s not a typo---Nurse Lunch? Also here at Orange Star Hospital, that means that, after having the staff assure me that this is not a joke and that Nurse Lunch is indeed a real person, I have to wait by the receptionist’s desk for close to two hours until she decides it’s to come and fetch me. 

Ok, so maybe some procedures are a lot more annoying than others, I figure, hoping the vein of annoyance in my forehead isn’t visibly popping. But I can handle the wait. I should be able to handle pretty much anything, if I mean to make it as a nurse. All I need is to have a plan. And for now if my plan is to sit here and try not to let my temper show, that will have to do.

Shifting a bit in the plastic chair receptionist had given to me out of sympathy, I cast my gaze outside beyond the huge glass windows. The sun is starting to set, casting a pinkish glow over the many tall buildings of Orange Star City. From where I am I can just barely make out the library of the University. I had planned to cram in some extra studying after my time at the hospital, but at the rate things were going it didn’t seem as though that would happen tonight. This day had been a complete waste! 

“Excuse me, Miss?”

If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s wasting time. I’m a student for Kami’s sake---I hardly have enough hours in the day as it is. Between my classes, my studying sessions, and supposedly starting today my Clinicals, I barely can find time to breathe. 

“Er…Miss Chichi?”

I’ve already given up on having a social life. I’ve already given up all of my hobbies, I’ve already given up my place in the Judo club, and on most Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursday I’ve given up dinner. I can’t possibly make any more sacrifices in for the sake of my budding career, and if this Nurse Lunch and the rest of the staff think they can just steal two hours of precious time from my already packed schedule and get away with it, they might just be getting a piece of my mind, student or not! 

“MISS CHICHI!”

At the sound of the booming voice I topple backward out of the cheap plastic chair. I scramble to my feet, my heart thumping wildly against my ribcage. “What? There’s no need to shout, I’m right----oh. Oh my…”

Standing before me was a very old, very bald, and very smartly-dressed man. I can tell right away that he must be the hospital’s Administrator, just like my father is back at home. I feel my cheeks flush pink in embarrassment. This isn’t the sort of impression I meant to make on such an important figure. Not quite meeting his eye, I smooth out the dark blue pants of my scrubs. “My apologies. I should have been paying more attention. Doctor…?”

“Roshi,” he supplies, with an all-too-forgiving grin that’s missing a few teeth. For some reason, that name sound familiar to me, but I can’t quite place it. He holds out his hand, which I assume he wants me to shake. Instead, he brings my hand to his lips and places a small kiss upon my fingers. “Doctor Roshi. The apology is mine. I’m sorry to have kept such a pretty young lady waiting all this time---"

“Doctor Roshi!”

His back stiffens at the sharp voice behind him, and I draw my hand back, feeling scandalized. My father never did that with any of the staff back at Mt. Fry-Pan Hospital! At least…I don’t think he did. It just screams unprofessional…and also very, very old fashioned. Deciding to ignore his comment, I fix my eyes instead upon the beautiful young woman who is charging down the corridor, her white coat billowing around her like a storm cloud. She does not look at all pleased. 

“How many times do I have to tell you not to harass the students, Dr. Roshi? No one wants your old wrinkly lips all over them!”

She looks like she wants to hit him over the head. So this has happened before? Dr. Roshi gives both of a sheepish look before addressing the woman. “I was just being welcoming! This sweet little gal has been waiting for Lunch for more than two hours!”

“It’s dinnertime, Doc,” she shoots back, her blue eyes narrowing into slits. “What the hell are you getting at?”

“Nurse Lunch!” pushes his glasses back up his long nose, slightly annoyed. “Or was it Nurse Launch? Anyway, the Burn Unit nurse I introduced to you last year? About your height, bit of an attitude, big blonde hair, great big---"

“A-hem!” The blue-haired beauty clears her throat so loudly it echoes all around. “Doc, please. You’re embarrassing the entire hospital! Besides that, isn’t Nurse Lunch the one with the navy hair?”

“Navy? No, she’s a blonde. Trust me,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. This time, the woman does hit him, right on that shiny bald head of his, drawing from him a pained yelp. Part of me wants to laugh, and part of me is already considering transferring to Metro West Hospital---what kind of an establishment is this, exactly?

Finding my voice again, I speak up at last. “Pardon me, but where is Nurse Lunch? I’m supposed to be shadowing her for the evening.”

“That’s just the thing,” says Doctor Roshi, rubbing the red spot on his head. “No one knows. It’s like she just…dropped off the face of the earth entirely. That’s the reason I paged you, Bulma.”

“That’s Dr. Briefs to you,” the woman snapped. “I didn’t spend all that time in graduate school for nothing.”

“You spent a third of the time in grad school than any other nurses working here. She’s a genius, you know,” he mock-whispered to me. I was a little surprised to see that the flattery worked wonders as Dr. Briefs put on a simpering smile.

“Oh you…well, go on then. What is it? You want me to mentor this student here and not hit you again for having the gall to harass her?”

“We did have her waiting all this time. What better way to make it up to her than having the most intelligent member of our nursing team show her the ropes?”

Is this a cartoon or something? The corner of my mouth twitches, not knowing whether to grimace or excuse myself and run back to campus. I could still make it to the library and dinner, if I left now. And it is only a 45-minute shuttle ride to Metro West, if I remember correctly.

“Of course, if that’s alright with our student. What was your name again?”

“Oh, um…Chichi. It’s nice to meet you.”

Dr. Briefs tucks a strand of short, stylishly choppy hair behind her ear, flashing me a welcoming grin. “Follow me, then Chichi! We’ll get started right away. I just have to sign off on your forms, right?”

“Oh, and please set Miss Chichi up with one of our uniforms! You’ll soon find out that the nurses at my hospital are famous for not wearing scrubs, young lady!”

Blanching somewhat, Dr. Briefs nods to the old man before turning on her heel and sweeping back down the hallway, her demeanor considerably brighter. I gather my notepad and hurry after her. “Yes. Thank you very much, Dr. Briefs. I didn’t think anyone was going to come for me, and this was all some elaborate prank.”

“You can call me Bulma,” she says, once out of earshot of the receptionist desk. She hops lightly onto the elevator. “Dr. Briefs makes me sound so old…that’s what they call my father. I’m barely 25, y’know.” Twenty-five years old with a PhD and a lustrous career---that’s definitely impressive. Dr. Roshi may have a point: who needs Lunch when I can shadow a genius? I stand back and watch as Bulma punches ‘12’ into the control panel. “Sorry about Roshi. He’s great at running this place, but he’s a bit of a letch. Sometimes that man thinks he can get away with anything.”

“I feel like I’ve heard of him before.”

“Oh, he’s quite famous. Back in his prime he used to tour the world…gives lectures, hosts panels, that sort of thing. I was so impressed with him, I left my previous job to come and work with him.” The elevator grinds to a halt, and she ushers me through. “Of course, that was before I knew what a giant pervert he is. I swear, most of my time is spent keeping him from ogling our female nurses. And physicians. And patients. And visitors…”

Kami, what a weird old man. I feel a bit better knowing it wasn’t just me he’s acted like that toward, but still. I make a mental note to try and avoid being alone with him in the same room. I do have a tendency to swing.

After signing off on my form with a flourish, Bulma hands it back to me and smiles again. “I’m in the ICU until just after midnight, and luckily for you, it’s been slow. C’mon…I’ll get you introduced to all the people who matter!”

“Oh Doctor----I mean, Bulma…what’s this about a uniform? Am I not allowed to wear my scrubs?”

“About that. You’re not going to be very happy…” She gestures to a cracked door, which I peer into eagerly. 

Almost instantly I wish I had not. 

“You…can’t be serious?” I all but whisper, feeling the blood drain from my face. There’s no way any of this is real. I look behind me for any TV cameras in case I am being pranked as I suspected from the start, but there’s no one but Bulma, who presses a box into my arms. 

“You can go change in that bathroom over there.”

“Aren’t there laws against this?” I say. Squeak, really. Bulma sighs.

“There are…and trust me, they are heavily in place. You should have seen Roshi’s original design.”

Ten minutes later I’m staring at myself in the mirror, trying to work up the nerve to leave the bathroom. I wouldn’t call myself a prude, exactly, but I definitely prefer to dress modestly whenever possible. Needless to say, my reflection is shocking. I’m wearing a pale peach dress, far too short, far too low-cut, and far too form fitting for my liking, like some sort of candy-striper turned stripper. The look comes complete with thigh-high socks, heels, and a cap with an orange star on it---the works. 

This can’t be what Papa envisioned when he sent me off to OSU. 

“Don’t feel embarrassed,” Bulma sympathizes when I sulk back to her side, fighting the urge to cross my arms over my chest. “It looks good on you, if that’s any consolation.”

 

All in all she’s a little brass, but I decide that I like Bulma well enough. She figures out quickly that I’ve had more than enough experience in a clinical setting (“You dress a wound better than any nurse I’ve seen on this floor. Couldn’t have done it better myself!” in particular had me glowing with pride) and she spends most of the evening talking to me like an old friend (“I’m actually glad you get to shadow me. All the other girls are aging and jealous. I feel like we’ll be able to relate to each other pretty well!”). 

The night continues smoothly until around 10:30. After finishing our hourly rounds on the ICU, Bulma and I are sneaking a cup of tea by the old and now-abandoned nurses’ station when the pager on her wrist starts buzzing wildly. 

“Dr. Briefs!” cries a rather effeminate voice from her pager. “We need back up on the unit! And hurry!”

Bulma’s features instantly rearrange themselves into a look of resolve. “On my way, Blue.” She nods to me; leaving my paper cup of tea on the desk, we dash from our secret hide-out and down the hall. “What’s the situation?”

“Quickly!”

The blood begins to rush through my veins, fervent. I drop the lax attitude that had rubbed off from Bulma and square my shoulders. This is what it’s really like to work in a busy hospital. There’s no time for tea and gossip when there’s a patient in need. On the Intensive Care Unit, the situation could be anything: a hemorrhage, a heart attack, an unresponsive patient. And it takes a certain type of individual to be able to handle something like that on the fly. 

In these ridiculous heels I start to fall behind; a couple minutes later I spot Bulma glowering at a blond-haired man who seems as though his knees have been turned to jelly. “You mean to tell me you had me run all the way down here just to tell me there’s no emergency?”

The man’s blue eyes are shining in desperation. “Not a medical emergency, per se, but it is a problem! None of our staff seem to be able to handle room 507. They take one step inside and they practically faint!”

“Is the injury that gruesome?”

He seems to consider the question for a moment, then shakes his head furiously. “Just go see what you can do! This is a very delicate situation, Dr. Briefs. We need your expertise.”

“Don’t you think you could prepare me for what I’m about to see?”

Blue’s cheeks go completely pink; if he weren’t leaning against the wall, I swear he might have fallen flat on his backs. “He’s just….too damn dreamy!”

There are a million and one things that I would like to say, but as every good nurse knows, the patient comes first. Bulma and I head to 507, stepping around several nurses crouched on the ground, giggling madly like schoolgirls. 

“I don’t believe this,” I hear Bulma mutter under her breath. “Why does stuff like this always happen on my shifts? Listen, Chichi.” Hovering in front of the door, she catches my eye. “I don’t know what’s going on behind this door, but you’re welcome to stay out in the hall until I give the all-clear. There’s no telling what might happen.”

“O-oh. Ah…” I want to refuse, but when I see how hard-set her eyes are, I nod my head. “Ok. I’ll wait here. But I don’t hear from you in five minutes, I’m coming in to assist you.”

Five minutes…I hardly have to wait five seconds before Bulma comes flying from the room, shutting the door with a snap. She leans with her back to it, her breathing heavy and her face flushed. 

“Bulma!”

Her shoulders shuddering a bit, she doesn’t meet my eyes. “Oh my…here? Of all places?”

“Bulma, what’s wrong? Do you need back up? Is the patient alright?” When I move to grab the door handle, she shoos my wrist away. 

“The patient is fine…very, very fine, actually…”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“It’s…in our little hospital, I don't believe it...it’s Son Goku!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Nurse" Chi-Chi has to step in where all the other staff fall. Literally. Who is this Son Goku character they all seem to be losing their pretty little heads over?

While there are about twenty-three things I can name wrong about this situation as a whole, I’ll do my best to keep my complaints brief.

1\. The entire nursing staff, including my mentor, the famed 25-year-old genius Dr. Bulma Briefs, has been reduced to a pile of mush and is pooling at the foot of room 507 in weak giggles. 

2\. This is the ICU. The INTENSIVE. CARE. UNIT. There must be something seriously wrong with the patient to be brought here, something life-threatening, and not one person can seem to gather themselves enough to see to his needs. 

3\. I don’t care what Bulma says, this is anything but a “little hospital”. I’d love her to visit Mt. Frypan one day to see if that changes her perspective. 

4\. Who on Kami’s green earth is Son Goku and why is that such a big deal?

“Bulma, breathe!” I say reproachfully, feeling very much that at this moment, she is a student meant to be shadowing me. “We’re nurses! Better yet, you’re a nurse and a doctor! We’ve got to keep level heads, no matter what. Pull yourself together!”

I don’t think she gets the message. Instead, she runs her fingers through her hair, pulls a compact out of her lab coat pocket and examines her lips. “Chi-Chi, how can you expect me to play serious Dr. Briefs with him lying in that bed? Hell, I’d be hard-pressed to manage flirtatious nurse…”

“About that…I don’t get it. Who is Son Goku?”

The giggling stops at once, and it seems like all eyes have turned to me. Glaringly. Did I do something?

“You don’t know Son Goku?” some red-haired girl says accusingly. “The prodigy of the Orange Star Devils?”

“Orange Star….?”

“Geez, you’re awful…Orange Star Devils as in the Pro-Football team?”

My face must be as blank as my mind right now; there is a collective groan from the staff.

Bulma shuts her compact with a resounding click, fixing me with a scandalized stare. “You do know what football is, don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” I snap, feeling my face grow warm. “I just…I don’t follow it. I’m not really a sports person.”

“She’s a giant nerd,” supplies the red-head. I shoot her a dark look, recognizing her as Suno, one of my classmates at OSU. “There’s no way she would know about sports, she’s always got her nose in some book. And she grew up in the sticks.”

Now that is not true; sure, I love reading, but I’ve been practicing martial arts since I was a child. Of course, what with her one cameo, how would this girl know any of that? I open my mouth to retort, but Bulma stops me with a hand on my shoulder, shaking her head. “We’re going to have to have a serious chat later, you know. Son Goku is only the hottest name in the sports world right now!”

“He’s the quarterback!” cries on of the nurses by the desk.

“And he plays running back!” shouts another. 

“And middle linebacker. Sometimes all within the same game!”

They may as well be speaking in Finnish. I blink several times before turning to Bulma for help.

“They say he can play any position at all! He plays offense and defense within the same game. He’s like a machine! And,” she says mischievously, “I’ve heard he never runs out of power or energy. Endless amounts of stamina, and I’d assume that means in more ways than one.”

The giggles break out again like a muscle spasm---am I in high school or a top-rated hospital? “Ok, that’s great and all, but who’s going to take care of him? He must be seriously injured!”

“He winked at me!” someone chirps by my elbow. “There’s no way I can go back in there, I’ll die!”

There’s no helping it. I may not be an actual nurse just yet, and this might just be the teeniest bit illegal, but I’ll be damned if a patient dies on my watch because the rest of the staff is too infatuated by some hot-shot athlete to get on with their jobs. Who cares how famous he is? I straighten my cap, grab Bulma’s clipboard, and hold my head up high, as though I’ve been doing this for years. I have, actually, been doing this for years. This should be as simple as writing a thesis. 

“If anyone can pull themselves together in time, please feel free to join me. Until then, there’s a patient who needs care and I intend to see to it that he receives it.”

And I stride through the door, putting measured distance between me and the twittering nurses-turned-schoolgirls with every click of my heel. Ok, perhaps that was a little more haughty than I intended, but I’ll worry about that later. 

For now, my only worry is this Son Goku character.

I don’t have any expectations about what I am about to face, except maybe a bloodied mass or visible bones or whatever kind of ailments football players are supposed to have. But I’m surprised to find that the patient doesn’t look have suffered any serious harm, not from here at least. That doesn’t mean there’s nothing wrong, but from the way everyone was acting I expected something gruesome at least. 

There is no sound but the clacking of my heels and the soft murmur of the television as I approach the patient’s bedside. “Excuse me, Mr. Son?”

I find myself looking into a pair of impossibly black eyes, feral and charming and enigmatic all in one. He has wild hair, just as dark as his eyes, tousled just so, complete with a couple of blades of grass. My stomach flops a little. He looks a mess, but an oddly attractive mess. I can see immediately why some of the nurses might be a bit smitten with him, but that’s still no excuse to fall out on the floor like a bunch of floozies. This is not some sort of fan-service anime.

“Mr. Son, my name is Chi-Chi. I’m your…er….nurse.” Yeah, your perfectly legal, licensed nurse. Let’s go with that. 

He surveys me a bit with those deep coals of his, and then his face breaks out into a roguish, lopsided grin. “Huh, they weren’t kiddin’. They really do make all the nurses dress like that here.”

What in the…..?! Horrified, I yank the clipboard up to my neck, which accomplishes nothing if not to show off how short this get-up is. I really, really hope the draft I feel uncomfortably close to the center of my thighs is just my imagination. 

Son Goku chuckles. I notice that he has an easygoing, boyish laugh, and it’s not directed at me per se. “Don’t be all nervous; I know it’s not your fault you gotta wear that thing. It’s just…well, there was a rumor going around. I didn’t think it could actually be true…sounds kind of illegal if you ask me.”

I feel a tiny bit more at ease, though I can’t quite place why. At any rate, he doesn’t seem nearly as perverted as Roshi, so perhaps that’s the reason I allow my shoulders to relax. “No one’s taken vitals yet…” I murmur, consulting the empty forms on the clipboard. “Mr. Son, were you admitted through the ER?”

He scratches his head. “Um…I don’t think so. They flew me in straight from the field.” 

Back at home, it was rare for anyone to be flown straight to the hospital by helicopter; must be the perks of being a famous athlete that I’ve never heard of. “Alright then, I’ll be taking your blood pressure and your temperature. And I am not nervous,” I add sharply. “A nurse doesn’t have time to be nervous.”

“I thought that too. Until they all practically fainted and fell over one each other in the hallway,” he adds with another snicker, jeering but innocent on the same breath. I chose not to respond, and motion for him to give me his arm. 

Oh my god…his arm is nothing but heavy, solid muscle. I try my best not to widen my eyes as I struggle to fit the pressure cuff over his humongous bicep. 

“Might wanna try a bigger one.” And he winks at me. Actually winks. My stomach does a couple more flip-flops, but I’m not about to abandon my duty simple because this guy happens to be incredibly attractive. And if he thinks that I’m going to be brought down just as easily as everyone else, he’s sorely mistaken. 

With maybe a little more flourish than necessary, I strain the largest cuff in stock around his arm, and stick a thermometer in his mouth before he can say anything further. 

Well, nothing wrong with his vital signs---a bit warmer than normal, a normal blood pressure and heart rate for an athlete. I make a quick note on his chart before I free his arm. I leave the thermometer conveniently pressed between his (rather plump) lips, and reach for my stethoscope. 

Now I haven’t had the pleasure nor the chore of touching many men the way I am touching my patient right now, so I can’t be entirely sure, but I’m pretty sure I’ve just laid my hands on the most perfectly carved chest in existence. Placing my stethoscope upon his middle, I’m fairly certain the same could be said about his abs. 

Pro athlete indeed. 

“Deep breath in,” I gulp. Nothing abnormal, aside from the outrageously chiseled physique. He looks at me from the corner of my eye for a reaction, but I’ve arranged my features into a stony expression. I refuse to give anyone that sort of satisfaction. 

Then I’ve got to check his back. Good lord, is there any flaw on this man’s body? “Mr. Son, are you having any pain anywhere?”

He smirks, almost as if he knows what I had been thinking. “No, Nurse Chi-Chi.”

I make a note on his chart, ignoring his the singsong way he addressed me. “Can you tell me what brought you in today?”

He inclines his head toward the tiny television set in the corner. As if on cue, a news reel goes by. A man clad in an orange uniform rolls what seems like several feet until his helmet flies off, revealing the same flock of untamed black hair in the bed beside me. Seconds later, he is buried beneath five enormous men. 

“I don’t really feel like I’m hurt, but the coach wanted me to get checked out, y’know?” He stretches his arms over his head, cracking his neck from side to side. “Happens all the time. I tell him I’m fine, but he always wants to put me in the hospital for somethin’. You guys have anything to eat, by the way? I’m starving!”

I almost want to let out a derisive laugh, but that wouldn’t be very professional, now would it? “Mr. Son---"

“Goku please, Nurse Chi-Chi.”

“Alright, Goku, there’s a menu at your bedside, but since it’s so late the selection isn’t the best.” He grabs the plastic menu at once and scans it at lightning speed, his face brightening considerably. “And you may feel alright, but what I saw on the TV was pretty brutal. You could have an internal injury, or a concussion. I’m going to contact the physician to take a closer look at you, ok?”

“Do they got fish this late?”

I can’t tell if he’s being facetious; either way, I square my shoulders and tell him, “You’ll have to ask the kitchen. As I said, the full menu isn’t usually served this late. The number is on the menu.”

“Oh.”

“Did you hear anything I said?”

“Yeah,” he says, crestfallen. “You said there’s no fish.”

“Mr. Son, I understand you must be hungry after your game---“

“Goku, please, Nurse Chi-Chi.”

“---but it’s important that we make sure you are healthy.”

He pouts at this news. What is he, a brolic super-human or an over-muscled man-child? He charm switches from roguish to naïve faster than I can keep up. “We’ll find you something to eat, I promise. But first I need to draw a blood sample.”

I grab a needle and several vials from the opposite side of the room, and by the time I return to his bedside his face has gone completely white. “Uh…y’know, there’s absolutely nothin’ wrong with me. And I’m pretty hungry, I should just get going…Coach’ll have something waiting for me…”

I laugh darkly. “Don’t be ridiculous Mr. Son. Er….Goku. I at least need a blood sample from you, and the doctor will probably have to order you a head scan. I’m sure you know concussions are fairly common in your line of work, but just to rule out something worse.” I’m not going to tell him his preoccupation with fish rather than his well-being is making me thing something’s been a little rattled in there.

“I’ll keep my blood, Nurse Chi-Chi, I’m pretty sure I need that for practice tomorrow.” He flashes a gorgeous, practiced grin that’s sure to have gotten him out of many tough situations. Impressive, but I’m not budging.

“There won’t be any practice for you unless the doctor clears and discharges you. May I have your arm?”

His eyes lock on to the needle and he swallows a visible lump in his throat. “W-What for?”

“Your blood sample, of course.”

“N-no…”

“Excuse me?”

“No! I’m not gonna do it, Nurse Chi-Chi. I’m not lettin’ you stick that thing in my arm! What are you, crazy?”

“I’m not crazy, I’m a trained nurse following procedure. Your arm, please.”

“No!”

“Goku.”

“NO! I ain’t gonna let you jab me with that thing! It’s gonna hurt!”

I swear, this isn’t a real hospital. This isn’t a real patient, and all the staff was just placed here to prank me. Joke’s on me, right? 

Right? 

“You were just pummeled by five or six full grown men, and you think something as small as a needle is going to hurt you?"

“Yes! It’s gonna hurt, I know it! That thing is dangerous!”

I flex the tourniquet band, quickly losing my patience. “I’ve had child patients braver than you. You’re a huge, hulking, grown man, now act like it and let me do my damn job!”

He freezes, mouth agape, as though no one’s ever had the gall to yell at him before. I take advantage of the situation, deftly tying the tourniquet, selecting a juicy blue vein, swiping it with alcohol, and giving it a little prick.

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!!!!”

His tortured scream ricochets off of every wall and probably every hall of the entire hospital. He thrashes about with his free hand, but I, thoroughly fed up with the whole experience, hold his other firmly in place, draw what blood I need, and patch him up with a bandage. 

“For Kami’s sake, what a baby,” I all but sneer. “Look, that’s it, I’m all done.”

Goku looks as though I’ve slapped him in the face and betrayed his deepest trust. “That…that hurt, Nurse Chi-Chi. That really hurt…”

“Yes, well, that’s what happens when you land yourself in the hospital. I’m going to send for the physician now.”

“But…I thought you were gonna take care of me. And help me find some food…”

He turns huge puppy eyes upon me, causing me to blanch. I almost feel sorry for him. I almost want to tell him that I’ll stay by his side until someone else comes, and that I’ll go down to the kitchen myself and cook him a steak. Almost. 

“I will be taking care of you, Goku, for the remainder of the night. But first the doctor NEEDS to make sure everything is ok.”

“Alright,” he says, sounding relieved. “Just…no more blood, ‘kay?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm the type of person that laughs at my own jokes while the rest of the room is silent, so that Launch thing has had me cracking up for WEEKS. I'm CRYING
> 
> Ok so I'm gonna admit I totally did not edit this chapter as much as I wanted to, because I felt like I was taking WAY to long to publish it. So if there's any mistakes (or bullshit) please let me know!


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